


left behind

by keijibeam



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, M/M, konoha has five best friends and this fic is abt his relationships with all of them, the angst isn't that intense so dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27853686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keijibeam/pseuds/keijibeam
Summary: high school is almost over, and konoha deals with it in his own petulant way.
Relationships: Konoha Akinori & Fukuroudani Volleyball Club, Konoha Akinori/Washio Tatsuki
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: KonohaLoveWeek 2020





	left behind

**Author's Note:**

> this is a late submission for the day 1 prompt "moving on" of konoha love week 2020 over on twitter! i love konoha and if you're reading this i imagine you do too. hope u enjoy!

Passengers filled the train from end to end. The two of them were huddled together, but not because of the volume of passengers. Washio's hand circled Akinori's wrist as the train turned and its occupants floundered between the empty spaces in the aisle, an earnest attempt to stabilize themselves. One sturdy hand wrapped around a handrail, the other pressed into Akinori’s stomach, keeping him in place. Washio's fingers squeezed around his wrist, a promise that his duty to keep them both upright would be fulfilled.

Akinori made no moves to acknowledge the promise. He didn’t need to. Washio didn’t need to reassure him either. For very Washio reasons, he did so anyway. Akinori wasn’t like that. He didn’t need to try so hard. His eyes closed shut as he tucked his chin against his chest, dropped his free arm to the side -- the other arm stayed locked into place against his stomach by Washio's fingers. Dozing off, he let his body drop against his personal safeguard.

Washio shook him -- not hard, just enough to let him know he was there. Just enough to wake him from his stupor. In retaliation, Akinori turned into him, rested his cheek against his shoulder, snaked his arms underneath the Fukurodani Volleyball Club jacket he still wore and into the hidden inner pockets. All of his weight fell against Washio as he went limp.

Washio made a soft “tsk” and turned his face towards Akinori’s ear. “Really?”

Akinori nodded against his neck. When you thought about it, wasn’t he doing Washio a favor? It had been a week since training ended for the third years. Of course, Washio had his own personal workout regimen to keep in shape, but shouldn’t he take any opportunity he could to hone his strength?

Washio finally accepted his benevolence and dug his palm deeper into Akinori’s lower back, tightened his arm against Akinori's side, and performed his most important task with all of his strength.

Once off the train, Akinori stretched his arms in the air and grinned at Washio, who frowned back at him. “You would think with training being over, I would have more energy to burn. Turns out I’m more tired than ever. Isn’t that weird?”

Washio’s frown only deepened.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Resting too much only makes you more tired,” Washio stated flatly.

“So does resting too little,” Akinori replied. “It’s pretty much a lose-lose situation, isn’t it?”

“You could come running with me sometime. It might help.”

“Don’t wanna. Hey, I told you to stop looking at me like that.”

“This is how my face looks.”

“Then maybe,” Akinori leaned forward and pinched Washio’s cheeks together, “you should get a new face.”

As Washio rubbed the feeling back into his face, Akinori turned and left the station. Washio caught up to him with ease. He tugged on Akinori’s wrist, pulling his hand out of his pocket to tangle their fingers together. Always the try-hard.

They stopped at an intersection to wait for the light to turn green. In their stillness, Akinori could no longer ignore the intensity he felt from Washio’s gaze. He turned to look at him, raising his eyebrows in inquiry.

“Do you want to hear about it?” Washio asked.

“You know I don’t.”

“Some of the teams that have shown an interest in me are pretty close to Tokyo -- ”

“And are those the teams you’re most interested in playing for?”

“...No, they’re not.”

The light turned green and Akinori yanked Washio into the street behind him. “You think I would let you even consider settling for anything outside of your top team just to be closer to me?”

Washio stayed silent as Akinori pulled him along, up the block, around the corner. Silence wasn’t uncommon from Washio, but it was typically _silent._ This was a loud, distressed silence. Akinori squeezed his hand in reassurance, because Washio was the type of person who needed what was obvious to be pointed out to him anyway, and Washio squeezed back. His grip tightened and he didn’t let up.

Once they were only a few blocks from Akinori’s street and his hand had begun to feel numb, he stopped and turned to Washio.

“I can hardly feel my fingers anymore.” He wiggled the fingers caught in Washio's grip for emphasis. “If you have more to say, just let it out.”

“I don’t want to break up.”

“You -- is that it?”

Washio nodded.

“Well, it’s not like either of us have a choice in the matter.”

“I could choose a team closer to Tokyo. We could stay together.”

Akinori pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. “If you did that, I would definitely break up with you.”

“Even if I joined a team far away, we could still…”

“Give it up already.” Akinori tried to pull his hand away but Washio held onto it tightly. “What, do you really believe the power of love would be enough to keep us together?”

“Yes.”

Akinori took a step back and blinked in surprise. Washio’s expression always looked serious, but even for him, the look he wore then felt intense. The way his eyes pierced into Akinori made him shiver.

“Even when we’re tens of thousands of kilometers apart?”

“Japan isn’t even that long.”

“Don’t try to use your knowledge of facts against me. You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. I still believe it.”

“You’re…..such a romantic sometimes, you know that?” He gave up on trying to tug his hand away and let it be crushed in Washio’s grip. “But it won’t work. I’m not putting either of us through that -- not while I'm studying at university and you’re working your ass off to get a regular spot that is well outside of the Tokyo city limits. Once we graduate, we’re...” He trailed off, turned away from Washio. He didn’t need to finish his sentence. They’d gone over it enough times already. Their future was settled.

He tried to move, to continue up the street, but Washio stayed in place, unbudging. The sturdiness Washio had worked so long and hard to perfect couldn’t be beat; as long as their hands were connected, there was no way for Akinori to move forward either. He turned back, expecting a whole new slew of arguments, but instead saw only Washio’s face, looking down at him with such softness it made his throat burn.

“Thank you, Konoha, for looking out for me.”

Akinori poured all of his strength into his fingertips to clutch Washio’s hand just as tightly.

“C’mon, I’ll let you thank me with a treat from the convenience store.”

Washio hesitated with another frown. “Sugar will make you more tired.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t have a hundred and one volleyball teams I need to impress then, isn’t it?! Let’s get going already!”

Washio finally moved, and they made their way forward together.

  
  


***

  
  


It wasn’t his idea, or even an idea he approved of, but he knew better than to try and argue with Saru and Komi once they had their minds set on something. He knew from experience that going begrudgingly was a hell of a lot more dignified than being literally carried away to wherever their schemes led them.

But this wasn’t a scheme. What it was -- or what it felt like -- was an invasion. This wasn’t his territory anymore. Volleyball was over for them once the Spring High had ended, and the end of their high school volleyball careers meant relinquishing all rights to the club’s gym, visitation or otherwise. The new captain watched them approach from the doorway, with a sigh at his tongue and a volleyball in hand.

Komi waved his fingers at him. “Hello there captain!”

“Hello, Komi-san,” Akaashi answered. “Here to check on the new libero again?”

“Maybe we’re here to check on the new captain,” Saru said. “Did you ever think about that?”

“I had considered it, but I hoped your studies would prove more important.” He turned to Akinori then and gave him a small smile. “Konoha-san, you haven’t been attending Sarukui-san and Komi-san’s daily inspections so far. Is there a reason you joined them today?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“I see. You and I are in the same boat then.” Akaashi gestured towards the inside of the gym. “We’re doing some independent practice at the moment, if you’d like to join us.”

It was the moment Komi and Saru had been waiting for. They sprang into the gym at full-speed while Akinori followed slowly behind. As he stepped onto the hardwood flooring of the gymnasium, an acrid taste seeped into the back of his throat and he grimaced.

_What the hell was that?_

“Konoha-san? Are you alright?”

With a flourish of his wrist, he waved Akaashi’s concerns away. Soon, the captain’s attention was caught by the concerns of another club member -- one of Akaashi’s kouhai, one of the kids who had the blessing of relying on a captain like him. A burst of pride swelled in Akinori’s chest, but only for a moment. A volleyball came rushing towards his face, shattering his prideful moment. Instincts kicked in and he barely caught it with his arm in time, sending the ball back in the direction it came from. When he looked that way, Komi smirked back at him.

“Care for a two-on-two match?”

Beside him, Saru wore his trademark overly-goofy smile, and Onaga waved and smiled. The pride Akinori felt over his favorite kouhai was quickly replaced with pride of his own -- pride in not having his face smashed in by a volleyball. His competitive streak burned as he shrugged his jacket off and tucked his tie between two buttons of his shirt.

“You’re on.”

“Mind if we join you?” Akinori turned to see Akaashi there, Anahori beside him, bouncing eagerly on his toes. “Your teams will need setters, won’t they?”

Akinori grinned. “Only if you’re on my team, Akaashi.”

“That leaves you with us, Anahori!” Saru said. He and Komi closed in on the first year.

“Doesn’t that sound fun?” Komi asked, a smirk still on his face.

Anahori's expression was difficult to read. He was either scared out of his mind or excited beyond belief. Either way, he threw his fists into the air and shouted, “yes, senpai!”

The first thing Akinori thought once their game began was, ‘how exhausting.’ When Akaashi sent the first toss for their side his way, the second thing he thought was, ‘how exhilarating.’ Maybe Washio had made a good point about daily exercise.

The familiar adrenaline came back to him and melted everything else away. There was nothing for him to worry about in this state. No exams, no graduation, no university or pro teams, no future whatsoever to consider. The only thing on the court he had to worry about overcoming was the smug grin of his opponents. He sent that first toss crashing down, too fast for even Komi to catch, in a cross shot to rival Bokuto’s (or close enough, anyway) and their grins were replaced with scowls.

He gave Akaashi a high-five and then immediately received a scolding as he turned to show a middle finger each to Saru and Komi. They returned the gesture and soon Akaashi sent admonishments to both sides of the court. Onaga laughed quietly to himself and Anahori wore that same indiscernible expression.

The game continued and Saru got an equally aggravating point against their team next. Akaashi dragged Akinori away from the net before either party could send the other side an inappropriate gesture. Akinori caught the next ball that came their way. He stuck his tongue out at Saru, who had sent the ball over the net, but only because he knew Akaashi was too busy getting ready to toss to reprimand him for it. Once Onaga spiked the ball to the floor on the other side, the three of them exchanged high-fives and Akaashi gave him a disappointed look, but said nothing further.

Several rallies passed, going back and forth in favor of either team. Everything felt the way it should. The game allowed no no time to consider anything else besides getting the ball over the net. Nothing mattered except for getting the ball over the net.

Finally, their flow was disrupted when the ball came to their side and headed towards Akaashi. He received it, albeit shakily, and sent it to Akinori.

“Sorry, Konoha-san!”

“Got it, got it!” Akinori answered. He was the jack of all trades, after all.

Surprising his opponents on the other side of the net, he positioned himself as if in preparation to spike the ball anyway. But they knew him better than that -- these were his teammates after all. He could just as easily switch to a set at the last second. That was the problem with knowing every possibility, with knowing someone too well: too much information could be as much of a hindrance as a lack of it. The anticipation, the doubt, made an even more effective tactic than the element of surprise.

Onaga ran towards the net, prepared whether or not he would receive the ball, and Akinori leapt into the air. As Onaga jumped, Akinori switched forms and positioned his hands to send the ball towards the middle blocker.

_Of course I wouldn’t spike a toss like this! Are you crazy?_

He grinned as Saru and Anahori realized his move at the last second and struggled to decide if it would be a toss to Onaga or a setter dump. The ball came rushing towards him, his fingers ready for the impact. As soon as it reached his fingertips, a memory froze him in place. His last set to Bokuto. Their last set of the Spring High.

The ball grazed his fingers, slid down his palms, and dropped to the floor. His feet hit the floor and Saru and Komi burst out laughing.

“What happened, Konoha?” Komi scoffed. “A week off training and you forget how to play volleyball?”

“Konoha-san?”

He turned to Akaashi, who had said his name with such concern. He sounded like a real captain.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving his hand. “I think...I think I’m done.” He turned, picked up his blazer, and headed for the door.

“But we haven’t even beaten you yet!” Saru called out. “We’re tied now!”

“You’re done?” Akaashi asked. “With the game?”

Akinori looked back over his shoulder, at the first and second years practicing, hope in their eyes, no clue of the disappointment to come. The acrid taste in his mouth came back.

“Yeah, with the game.”

_Oh, so that’s what this taste is. I’m just petty._

  
  


***

  
  


Outside of school, no one had seen Bokuto in days. All of his time had been occupied by the various teams from all over the country vying for his attention. Now that he had settled on a choice, all of his free time, he spent with Akaashi, but Akaashi was a responsible captain. He always got up early and never stayed out late, so most of Bokuto’s evenings were free.

“To the Black Jackals!” Bokuto cheered, holding up a steaming cut of beef.

“To the Black Jackals!” the rest of the third years echoed, holding up chopsticks and drinks.

On a rare free evening, Bokuto, Washio, Saru, Akinori, and Komi were crowded around a table at Bokuto’s favorite yakiniku place, celebrating.

Bokuto grinned stupidly and closed his eyes in delight as he took a bite. “I don’t know if there will be anywhere to eat in Osaka that’s half as good as this place! Akaashi said he would do some research for me, but I think he was mostly doing it for himself so he can simultaneously look up the best onigiri places.”

Akinori raised an eyebrow. “‘Simultaneously?’”

“Akaashi taught it to me! Did I use it wrong?”

“Not as far as I know.” He eyed the meat in front of them, looking for the perfect piece, and found it between Washio’s chopsticks. He nudged Washio’s side, pointed to himself, and opened his mouth. Washio seemed happy to oblige as he raised the chopsticks to Akinori’s lips. Just before he could bite down, the meat was gone, crushed between Washio’s teeth, hidden behind a grin that made Akinori’s heart flutter and aggravated him all the same.

“That was my piece,” he pouted.

“It was between _my_ chopsticks.”

“Hey, Washio!” Bokuto pointed his chopsticks, which held a new piece of beef, at him. “Know any good places to eat in Hiroshima city?”

Washio leaned against the table, looked over the meat as if searching for another piece. “I haven’t looked into it,” he answered. Akinori narrowed his eyes at the expanse of back in front of him. Washio had tensed up suddenly, but they were only talking about food. What did he have to be so nervous about?

“Why ask him about Hiroshima?” Akinori asked. “I don’t think he’s ever even been there.”

“He’ll be living there soon!”

“He what?”

“That’s where the EJP Raijin are!”

“Oh.” _Of course._ It wasn’t quite ten thousand kilometers, but you couldn’t get much closer while staying within Japan. “So you chose already?”

Akinori tilted his head back and closed his eyes, imagining the geography of Japan. Probably ten hours by car. Maybe eleven. By bullet train, at least half that time. Not that it mattered. He opened his eyes, met Washio's gaze, whose eyes were filled with guilt. As if he had anything to feel guilty about.

“I’m happy for you, it’s a great team.” Akinori reached forward, stabbing a piece of meat with a chopstick before bringing it to his mouth. “Any team would be lucky to have you, but a team like that...It’s hard to say who lucked out the most, you or them.”

“Thank you, Konoha.”

He met Washio's eyes again and that softness was there, that affection he didn’t know what to do with. Not when he knew perfectly well how much distance would be between them in a few months.

“I'm just...stating a fact,” he replied bleakly.

“I can’t wait until the two of you become regulars.” Komi waved a piece of beef wrapped in lettuce between the two of them. “I’d pay to see that fight. The two of you going head to head at the net? Oof.”

“I don't know, I'd say Washio has the advantage.” Saru tapped his chopsticks against his mouth. “Bokuto may be a top ace when he’s on his game, but who knows when he’ll have his next meltdown. No one knows how to handle him like we do. Can you even imagine how his new team will react the first time he forgets how to hit a cross shot?”

“Or when he gets depressed because the stadium is too small!” Komi laughed.

“Hey!” Bokuto flung grilled onions at the two of them. “I’m a _normal_ ace now, remember?”

“As if you could ever be normal,” Saru snorted.

“Whatever! If you’re betting on Washio when he’s up against _me_ , I’m telling you now, you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.”

“I didn’t say he would _definitely_ win,” Saru backpedaled. “I’m saying he would have the advantage. It depends on the whole lineup, really.”

“My vote’s with Bokuto.” Komi reached across the table to give their former ace a high-five. “Top one of one, all the way!”

“You all better come to that game to find out for yourselves!” Bokuto warned. “I’ll definitely kick Washio’s ass!”

Komi took Bokuto’s hand and gripped it tightly. “If I trek all the way out to Osaka or _Hiroshima_ for a game to cheer you on and you lose to Washio, I’ll kick your ass myself.”

“Like you have anything to worry about, Komi!”

“Obviously, all of us would be at that game,” Saru said. “Any time the two of you fight, we’ll be there.”

“It’s not a fight,” Washio insisted, “it’s a match. And stop betting on us. We’re not the only ones on the team.”

Komi clasped his hands together and rested them against his cheek. “No, but you’re the most important ones.”

Saru cocked his head to the side as he looked over Washio. “That sounds like something a loser would say. Now I'm leaning towards Bokuto. What about you, Konoha?” Saru turned to Akinori and dug his elbow into his side. “Who would win? Your boyfriend,” he paused to purse his lips at Akinori, ''or this bozo,” he jutted a thumb towards Bokuto.

“Does it matter? It’s not like any of us will make it out to those matches anyway.”

Saru craned his neck to come eye-to-eye with Akinori. “Hey, hey, what’s with that attitude? We’re all planning a beautiful future together at the expense of our most successful friends. Don’t you want to join in the fun?”

Akinori shrugged. His tongue tasted bitter. “It just seems pointless. A few months after graduation, maybe a year, we’ll all have lost touch, right? It seems less painful to acknowledge that now rather than lie to ourselves about an unrealistic future.”

“You really think we’d desert you like that?” Bokuto looked at him from across the table, his eyebrows knitted together in an expression Akinori had never seen before.

“Not intentionally.” _But what am I supposed to think when my best friend and my boyfriend are moving across the country?_

Washio lifted his hand, rested it in the crook of Akinori’s elbow. “Konoha…”

Akinori shook his shoulders and Washio’s hand fell to the side. “I know, I know, I can hear how mopey and depressed I sound. I’m being a total buzzkill. Sorry, guys.” He stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back.

“That's alright, you were never much fun in the first place,” Komi teased. “That doesn’t mean you have to leave.”

“I think I need some air,” he lied. Fresh air wouldn’t close the distance between Tokyo and Hiroshima. It wouldn’t dissolve the feeling in his stomach that flowed upwards and stung his throat. He pulled his wallet out to leave his share of the cost.

“Don’t worry about it.” Bokuto held out a hand to stop him. “Soon enough I’ll have sponsors coming out of my ass. This one’s on me!”

“I guess I know who to call next time I need a loan, huh?”

Bokuto answered him with a grin, and then he turned to leave.

Outside of the restaurant, he didn’t make it far before a familiar presence appeared at his side, a familiar hand tugging on his wrist, pulling his hand out of his pocket and entwining their fingers together.

“Hiroshima city, huh?” he asked.

“You told me not to take distance into account,” Washio answered.

“Ha! That I did.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first.”

“Don’t be sorry, you were only doing what I asked.”

“But I still feel regretful.”

“Well, stop it.”

“But you seem upset.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“But I still want to try.”

He stopped to take a long look at Washio. “Try?”

“Long-distance.”

He dropped Washio's hand, nearly throwing it back at him. “I don’t want to _try._ I don't want to pretend. Not with you.”

“It doesn’t have to be pretend.”

“You really don’t quit, do you? This sucks. Maybe we should break up now, instead of waiting. Instead of dragging this out.”

“Is that what you want, Akinori?”

He ignored how tightly his chest clenched. “Are you kidding? Am I supposed to melt into a puddle because you called out my name?”

“That was the idea.” Washio drew closer, taking both of Akinori's hands in his. “It didn’t work?”

“No,” Akinori lied for the second time that night, “not at all.”

Washio pulled him forward by the wrists until they were flush against each other. He dragged Akinori’s hands behind his back and left them there, placing his own hands in the same position against Akinori. “Still nothing?”

His cheeks burned, his throat stung, the clenching in his chest wouldn’t stop getting tighter and tighter. The worst part was, he couldn’t tell how much of it was anger and how much of it was eagerness to be closer.

“What the hell?” Akinori dropped his forehead, resting it against Washio’s shoulder. “Who told you to try so hard all the damn time?”

“That’s not an answer, Akinori.”

“It's not what I want. Of course it’s not what I want. I just need to be an asshole for a night, okay? Why couldn’t you leave me to brood in the middle of the street in peace?”

“Because I know that the more hostile you act, the more you need someone by your side.”

“...You really think you’ve got me pegged, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Akinori could hear the grin in his voice. “You don’t have to sound so fucking smug about it. How is it you can be the person I want to see least in the world while simultaneously the only person I want to console me?”

“Simultaneously?”

“Bokuto taught it to me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know it’s not what you meant,” Akinori emphasized his words by stabbing Washio in the side with his index finger, “but _you_ know what _I_ meant, even without me explaining, so stop asking.”

This time he _felt_ the smile against his cheek and it only annoyed him further. He pulled away, and this time Washio let him.

“I’m...glad, really, that you’re so eager to be by my side during even my most tumultuous moods,” Akinori said. “But I need a few hours to just...be pissed off and an asshole. Alone. Without an audience to embarrass myself in front of.”

He looked disappointed, but Washio nodded in understanding.

“I suppose I could postpone my tantrum for a little while,” Akinori continued, “if you wanted to walk me back to the station.” He put his hand out, and Washio held back a grin as he accepted it. “My offer is rescinded if you make one more smug face.”

Washio covered his mouth with his free hand and nodded toward the street. “Lead the way.”

  
  


***

  
  


He had been doing a good job of avoiding his friends since the night before. Until now, he had never been grateful that none of his teammates were in the same class as him. The notifications continued to grow in his inbox, but those were easy to ignore.

 _In theory_ , they were easy to ignore. He had read all of their messages (at least, he had read what fit into the notification box, so as not to set off a _read_ alert on their end.) All of the third years had sent him nonchalant check-ins. Even Akaashi had tried to get a hold of him. He assumed Bokuto had told him what happened, but even if he hadn't, Akaashi always checked on others first.

He had received the most messages from Washio. They were too frequent and insistent to be as casual as the others, but Washio wasn't like the others. He lacked as much ease and contained as much intensity over instant messaging as he did in person. Akinori got updates from Washio throughout the day, telling him where he was, what he was doing, just in case he needed to find him. Just in case he wanted to talk. He didn’t worry about Washio knowing he had read his messages without replying, so he read his favorites over and over again.  
  


**yellowtaildragon**

[06:03] If you need anything, please let me know  
[07:12] Went for a run this morning. Saw a squirrel pick a fight with a sparrow, but they dispersed too quickly for me to capture it on film  
[07:45] I am at the convenience store. Poor selection of sweets today. You would be disappointed  
[09:15] Class break now. A classmate challenged me to a push-up contest, but i declined. It seemed inappropriate, given the difference in our builds. I imagine you would have encouraged me to accept anyway  
[11:47] Hope you are doing well, even if that means doing well at being an asshole  
[11:48] I have re-read my last message. I apologize, that came out wrong  
[11:48] I was referencing you describing yourself as needing time to “be pissed off and an asshole” last night. I do not think you are an asshole  
[11:49] I realize now i might sound too defensive. I truly do not think of you that way. If i am sending too many messages at once, i apologize for that as well  
[14:25] I will be in our gym after class. Akaashi has given me permission to use it on days they have off from practice. If you are up to it, please feel free to join me  
[14:26] No, i have no expectations for you to join me in my workout. You are welcome to observe only, if that is what you wish

**木ピ**

[15:30] i’ll think abt it (¯▿¯)  
  


He pressed ‘send’ and shoved his phone back into his bag, pressed his palms down on either side of him against the cold cement bench where he sat, and let his head roll back as he squinted up at the sky. The sun fought to break through the clouds, but it had lost long ago. It was too cold for him to hide there any longer. His fingers might even freeze to the bench if he stayed in that position for too long. He needed to apologize to Washio, and then apologize to the rest of their friends. He needed to get up and go to the gym. He needed to get up. He needed to get up, but his hands were frozen in place, and not because of the weather.

Was there even a point to apologizing? Would it change anything? He still believed everything he had said. Wasn’t it better to keep up his poor attitude, give them an excuse to cut him off now rather than prolong the inevitable?

He closed his eyes. Or maybe if he fell asleep here, once he woke up, all of his problems would have disappeared. Washio’s warning of too much rest rang through his thoughts and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. What did it matter when he would be tired either way?

It was too cold. Too cold to leave his hands out in the open, subject to the elements, any longer. He stuck them in his pockets -- Washio’s pockets, he remembered. While he had been complaining about the weather the night before, Washio took his jacket off (it was still the club jacket) and put it over Akinori, despite his protests. Neither of them had mentioned it when he got onto the train, and because Washio’s sentimentality infected him like a disease, he had yet to take it off. He filled the Washio-sized jacket like the last stick of pocky left in the box. The open space between his arm and the sleeve let cold air in, chilling him further. Oversized clothes were supposed to be comfortable, but he was even colder than if he had worn his own, appropriately-sized jacket.

He cupped his hands against his mouth, blew hot air into them, and regretted every decision he had ever made.

“Konoha?”

“Konoha-kun?”

“Konopi?”

“Konoha-san?”

Akinori opened his eyes. Saru and Komi were standing in front of him. Evidently, his hiding spot hadn’t worked out as well as he had thought it would. They sat down on either side of him.

“You weren’t hiding here from _us_ , were you?” Komi nudged him with his shoulder. “I’m the one who told you about this spot behind the library, remember?”

Oops. He had forgotten.

“Looks like he forgot, Komiyan.” Saru nudged his other side. “Are you feeling any better, now that you’ve had time to hide away and mope?”

“Not really.”

“You know,” Komi mused, “Bokuto might have been the baby of the team, but you’re like, the middle child who got used to being the baby until the _real_ baby came along.”

“...So you’re saying I’ve been acting like a baby.”

“More like, a former baby,” Komi corrected.

“But you’re _our_ former baby,” Saru added.

“Don’t ever call me your baby again.”

“We can’t make any promises!” Komi sat up straight, leaned against Akinori and pressed their cheeks together as Saru did the same on the other side.

“Have I ever told the two of you that I hate you both?”

“You can hate us as much as you want.” Saru wrapped his arms around Akinori. Komi did the same. “We have enough love in our hearts to overpower you any day of the week.”

Akinori jerked his body from left to right, shaking the two of them off. “I get it already, I get it. I feel so loved. I‘ve never felt so much affection and adoration before. Now buzz off.”

Saru smiled and rested an arm against his shoulder. “Hey, Konoha, you haven’t been sitting here thinking to yourself, ‘woe is me, my boyfriend and my best friend are leaving me behind, I’ve never felt such misery and suffering, what’s the point in living anymore,’ have you?”

“.....No.” He had gotten better at lying.

...Or maybe he hadn’t been developing that skill as much as he thought, because Komi and Saru both stared at him with their eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“First of all,” Komi began, “ _we’re_ your best friends. Bokuto can’t hold a candle to our deep bond. And we’re staying right here.”

“What he said.” Saru gave Akinori a light shove. “It's always been us three against Bokuto, while Washio watched from the sidelines, praying we wouldn’t drag him into it. No matter how much you brood, however mad or depressed you feel, we’re never gonna leave you alone. Okay?”

He brought his hands up, hid his entire face beneath his palms and fingers. So it wasn’t just Washio who tried too hard.

“Shit. You’re right, and I know you’re right. _Shit._ ” He pulled his hands away, only to slap them against his cheeks. “I can’t stop thinking about everything that’s changing! Everything I'm losing! Nationals, Bokuto, Washio...At least the three of us will be in the same city! Why can’t I focus on that instead?!”

“Because you’re a pessimist.” Komi gave him a pat on the back. “But we love you anyways.”

“Thanks.”

Saru poked his cheek. “Wouldn’t you do the same for us?”

Of course he would. The three of them had always pulled each other out of the worst slumps. What had convinced him this would be any different?

“I have to go to the gym,” Akinori said, standing suddenly. “I’ve been sitting here, putting it off, but. I should go. Now.”

Komi and Saru both stood and lifted their fists. “To the gym!” they shouted in unison, and followed Akinori out of his hiding spot.

  
  


***

  
  


He shouldn’t have been surprised to find Bokuto and Akaashi in the gym, running spiking drills.

“Bokuto-san wanted to practice,” Akaashi said defensively as the three of them stared at the pair.

“We get it, it’s Bokuto,” Komi said.

Saru held his hands out in front of his chest. “You don’t have to explain anything to us.”

“You know that saying that will make me feel like I _do_ have to explain something, but there really is nothing to explain,” Akaashi explained.

“Sure, sure.” Komi winked.

“Please stop that, Komi-san.”

“Hey, Akaashi, have you seen Washio?” Akinori asked. “He said he would be practicing here.”

“Here, Konoha.”

He turned around and saw Washio emerging from the locker room. He, Bokuto, and Akaashi all wore the same regulation white shorts, but Washio and Bokuto were wearing t-shirts from their respective teams. A white t-shirt with ‘EJP’ in large yellow letters decorated his torso. A towel laid over one of his shoulders and he held a water bottle in one hand.

“Hey, hey,” Bokuto snuck up behind Akinori and wrapped an arm around him. “We’ve got an even number of people here, Konoha. What do you say? A three-on-three?”

Akinori shrugged Bokuto’s arm away. “I don’t think so. Washio and I have plans.”

“I wouldn’t mind playing a set or two,” Washio said.

Akinori sent a glare to Washio, who looked back at him in confusion. “I don’t really feel like it, alright? But you guys go ahead.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Bokuto put his hands on his hips and smirked. “Now that Washio and I have gone pro, you realized you can’t keep up with us? That’s fine, that’s fine. I get it.”

“Bokuto...when you die, I promise it will be by my hands.”

“I’ll never die! Hah!”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi warned, “you’re tempting fate.”

“Wha?! Akaashi, don’t be so conscientious!”

Before he could respond, Saru and Komi appeared on either side of him. “We’re on Akaashi’s team!”

“You bastards,” Akinori snarled. “What happened to us three against Bokuto?”

“What? You guys wanted to play three on one against me?! That sounds fun!”

“I don’t think that’s what they meant, Bokuto-san.”

Saru shrugged in his direction. Komi stuck a tongue out.

“Fine.” Akinori threw aside his bag, took off Washio’s jacket, and tucked his tie into his shirt.

“Alright!” Bokuto cheered. “Konoha will be our setter then.”

“What?! I’m the setter?”

“Of course!” Bokuto clapped him on the back. “Who else?”

Akinori looked from side to side. His teammates were Bokuto and Washio, who would do in a pinch, but he _was_ the obvious choice.

“Alright, I guess...”

“That’s the spirit!” Another clap on the back from Bokuto sent him nearly toppling over.

Akaashi’s team took the first serve. Bokuto received it, sent it to Akinori, who panicked when he couldn’t decide if he should set it overhanded or under. He ended up slapping the ball away from him with one hand.

“Shit! Sorry!” He called out, as embarrassed as he had ever been on the court.

Washio chased the stray ball, knocked it with his wrist, just enough to get it over the net, only to have it swiftly returned by Komi. Relief washed over Akinori as the ball came straight towards him. He sent it to Washio again, who sent a mediocre toss to Bokuto. He spiked it over the net and got them the first point.

“Leave the receiving to us, Konoha!” Bokuto said as they high-fived.

“Right, sorry.”

The next ball that came his way, his hands missed, so he used his foot. It went flying over the net well out of bounds.

Komi let out a guffaw as the ball blew past him. “What game do you think we’re playing, Konoha?”

“Shut up!”

His hands actually made contact with the next one. The impact gave him such a shock that he forgot to put any force behind his toss. After it flew only a few centimeters into the air, it came right back down and bounced off of Akinori’s face. Bokuto burst into laughter then.

“What the hell is the matter with me?!” He clenched his fists in his hair and dropped to a squat. “I can’t make a proper set up to save my life!”

“Hey now,” Bokuto smirked at him with a ball tucked between his elbow and waist. “C’mon, that sounds like you’ve already admitted defeat. You’re not giving up yet, are you?”

“You bastard.” Akinori stood. “Like hell I am.”

He flubbed the next one too. Missing the toss didn’t annoy him half as much as Bokuto’s comment did.

“Don’t worry, Konoha. Now that I’m a _normie_ , I can pick up all the slack.”

What aggravated him the most was that he couldn’t say anything back. Bokuto had saved his missed set, diving to send the ball in the air and over the net, and he and Washio successfully blocked it when Saru tried to spike it back to their side. He gritted his teeth as Washio prepared for his serve.

All he could think about then was shutting that noisy bastard up.

He missed the next three tosses.

Saru stuck his fingers in the net and peered through it. “Do you guys see what I’m seeing? It looks like there’s steam coming out of Konoha’s ears.”

“I see it too!” Komi pointed at Akinori. “Think he’ll explode?”

“Komi-san, Sarukui-san,” Akaashi sighed, “please show at least a modicum of decorum while you’re on my team.” They each turned and bowed in apology to Akaashi, who only rolled his eyes.

“They’re right, y’know.” Bokuto cocked his head to the side. “I think it’s coming out of your nose, too.”

Akinori clenched his jaw and turned away only to find Washio staring at him.

“You have something to add?”

Washio shook his head. “I wanted to see the steam for myself.”

Maybe it was a good thing that the two of them were moving across the country.

The next rally started with a serve from Saru that Washio barely caught. The ball came towards him, and he wished with all his heart that it was Bokuto’s head spinning towards him instead. He lifted his hands, preparing for an overhand set, not that it mattered at this point what technique or position he used. He could just imagine the comment Bokuto would make after he botched this toss. _‘Can’t handle playing with the_ pros, _Konoha?’_ He narrowed his eyes, focused on the ball, on Bokuto’s smug grin spinning toward him, and it connected to his fingers. He pressed against it and sent it towards Bokuto, who was waiting for it in mid-air, and slammed it down to the ground on the other side of the net.

“Yes! Konoha!”

Bokuto shouted in his ear and lifted him in the air before he had even realized what happened. He tossed the ball? He really set it? He didn’t flub it again?

“You really panicked there for a while, but I knew you would figure it out. You just needed a little encouragement!”

Bokuto grinned like a fool. Akinori grabbed that fool by the neck and pulled him down into a headlock.

“What, you think you’re a Konoha whisperer all of a sudden? Get real.”

“One of us has to serve at some point,” Washio interrupted. “It’s your turn, Bokuto.”

Akinori released the fool and shoved him away. Washio still looked at him, something unfamiliar in his expression.

“What is it now?”

“I’m jealous. I want to hit your toss too.”

He felt his face flush at the request, not that it should have surprised him. They were playing volleyball, after all.

“I’ll send the next one your way.”

Bokuto served and Akaashi sent the ball back this time. When the ball came to him, Akinori tossed it straight into the net. He looked at Washio.

“I meant the _next_ next one.”

  
  


***

  
  


The six of them stayed together into the evening, playing until they could no longer stand and going out to eat afterwards. This time, Bokuto made everyone pay their own way.

When he and Washio got on the train headed to Akinori’s house, it was late enough that they rode in a mostly empty car, allowing them to sit for the ride. Being in the middle of the week only made the crowd more sparse. For a short while, they even had the car to themselves.

Once the last passenger had gone, as soon as the doors had shut and the train left the station, he didn’t give Washio the chance to look at him too sweetly, caress his cheek too gently. He grabbed Washio by the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward until skin met skin. Washio had just taken a drink from his water bottle before the doors closed, leaving his lips wet. Akinori licked the droplets away and decided he preferred that method of hydration over any other.

They pulled away and Washio looked at him just the way he hadn’t wanted, touched his face just the way he had been afraid of. His other hand laid in Akinori’s lap, but it drifted up, settled against the fabric of his jacket, toyed with the zipper as he smiled.

“I like seeing you in my jacket.”

“Yeah, well. It’s too big. My wrists are cold.”

“What?”

“You’re never getting it back, just so you know.”

Washio’s hand paused. “Never?”

“You heard me.” Akinori looked down at his lap, at Washio’s still hand. He slid his own hand underneath it, rubbed his thumb against the back of it. “I was thinking...maybe Hiroshima isn’t so far after all.”

“I could take the bullet train back up here every weekend.”

Akinori scoffed at the suggestion. “Like you’ll have every weekend off.”

“You can take the bullet train down to me on the weekends I don’t have off. I’ll buy you the ticket.”

“Yeah right! Like you’ll be making that much on a rookie’s salary.”

“But I’ll miss you.”

Akinori looked up at Washio. The intense gaze he wore always penetrated too deeply; it made Akinori feel exposed. This expression was different. Now Washio was the one who looked vulnerable.

“You live ten minutes away from me now and that’s already too much. You’re about to move ten _hours_ away. How do you think I feel?” Akinori pressed his hands against either side of Washio’s face and squeezed. For good measure, he kissed him one more time before the train began to fill with passengers. “It’s alright if we can’t see each other every week. We’ll survive. We’ve got the...power of love, or whatever, right?”

A smile spread beneath Akinori’s hands and his heart hammered against his chest. Washio brought his hands up and held them over Akinori’s.

“You’re right. Thank you, Konoha.”

“What are you always thanking me for? You’re the one who puts up with my nonsense.” He pulled his hands away, stuffed them into the pockets of the jacket that now belonged to him. “I should be the one thanking you. For not giving up on me.”

“Okay, then thank me.”

Akinori narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. “Thank you.”

“Buy me a treat from the convenience store.”

“That’s all you want? A treat?”

“It’s a start.”

“You don’t like sweets.”

“I was thinking a protein bar, maybe a sports drink.”

“I’ll definitely buy you a drink,” he said with their earlier kiss in mind. He leaned back, rested his head against the window and let his eyes fall shut. “Just wake me up when we get there.”

“You’re going to sleep?”

Fingertips brushed his scalp, settled in his hair. Washio’s thumb rubbed at his temple. For all of the incredulity in his tone, he did little to prevent Akinori from dozing off.

“I haven’t gotten that much of a workout since Spring High. I’m exhausted.” Akinori dropped to the side, letting his head fall against Washio’s shoulder. An arm wrapped automatically around him. “It’s fine, isn’t it?”

Washio’s lips grazed the tips of Akinori’s hair as he mumbled something against his scalp that sent shivers down his spine, made his cheeks heat up, and forced him to bury his face in the crook of Washio’s neck.

Maybe, he thought, a ride on the bullet train every weekend wasn’t such an unrealistic dream after all. Above all, he knew for certain that the EJP Raijin had definitely lucked out the most.

**Author's Note:**

> washio's nickname, "yellowtaildragon," is a play on his name/favorite food, that i imagine someone else thought up for him. probably konoha, but really any of the third years could have been responsible for forcing him to use this nickname.
> 
> konoha's nickname (if i translated it correctly!) is supposed to be konopi, which is a cute nickname i saw a japanese artist give him that i can't get over :) i imagine he writes in kanji/katakana bc he sucks at english whereas washio (or whoever gave him the nickname) can write english well enough to translate it.
> 
> ty so much for reading! if you want to leave kudos or comments or bookmark this fic then ty ty ty so much!!!
> 
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